


The Defeat of the Holly King

by EarendilEldar



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Lost Love, M/M, Male Friendship, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 06:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilEldar/pseuds/EarendilEldar
Summary: Erestor hates mid-winter celebrations, but his reasons run deep and grievous. Set in Third Age, shortly after Glorfindel is returned and come to live in Imladris.I originally meant this to be a "finding romance through enmity" kind of thing between Erestor and Glorfindel... but it went a different direction.  "The Tale of Celebrimbor and Erestor" is a prequel, I wrote this first and decided I really need to explore that relationship further.





	The Defeat of the Holly King

_Imladris, TA 1976_

As the musicians ended the tune, the dancers turned and applauded appreciatively. 

“A merry dance next!” called a voice near the back of the hall.

“Merry?” the lead musician called back teasingly.  “Did ‘Kiss Under the Mistletoe’ not adequately stimulate your sense of merriment, my Lord Glorfindel?”

“Oh, it did, Master Lindir.  However, should we stimulate senses of merriment much more, I fear we shall lose a fair third of our dancers to wherever those sprigs of mistletoe might be tucked about the house.”

“Very well,” Lindir laughed gamely.  “A _merry_ dance next.  All dancers change partners,” Lindir commanded.

Whilst the musicians changed their scrolls of music, the lone elf sitting at the front of the room with a crystal goblet, looking terribly bored, leaned over to Lindir.  “What is it to be next?” he enquired quietly.

“Why, ‘The Defeat of the Holly King,’” Lindir smiled.  “Ever the favourite of a Mid-winter eve, is it not, Master Erestor?”

“Oh, jolly,” Erestor grinned back sardonically.  “I think I shall require more miruvor.  Perhaps a vat….”  Erestor rose and set his glass aside, meaning to go fetch a decanter from the back of the hall since none of the footmen seemed available to serve during the dancing. 

No sooner had Erestor turned, but his hand was grasped and he found himself being pulled along into the line of elves making ready for the dance.  Standing across from him, wearing a smile of delighted surprise, and not a little victory, was Imladris’s own Captain of the Guard, holding Erestor’s hands in his as they waited the announcement of the next dance.

Erestor huffed impatiently and threw off Glorfindel’s hands as he turned to go. 

“Ai, wait!” Glorfindel cried, scrambling to pull Erestor back to him.  “Come, do not tell me you had this dance promised when you’ve not danced any other?”

“Of course I didn’t!”

“Then, what can be your protest?  You rose to find a partner, and, well, there was I, ever at the ready,” Glorfindel smiled.

“I did most assuredly not rise to find a partner, I rose to -”

“Are we all matched now?” Lindir called.  “Exquisite!  Now, take hands in groups of four… well, I suppose there’s no need to direct _this_ dance,” he laughed lightly and turned to his musicians to play the introductory overture, causing the hall full of elves to applaud excitedly before quickly taking hands in their groups.

The elf beside Erestor – one of the visitors from Greenwood, Erestor thought - reached for his hand and Erestor attempted to pull away.  “I am not dancing -” he insisted.

“You are now!” the Silvan elf chuckled as their quartet began skipping in a circle to the left, before breaking back into their pairs with one partner taking the other in his arms and lifting him in a swift spin.  The four joined hands again, circled to the right, and opened to a line which paraded several steps up the hall, then back down, mimicking the turning of the year and the advance and retreat of the seasons.  Then the pairs switched places with their neighbors and formed new groups of four to repeat the dance all over again. 

Through it all, Glorfindel clasped Erestor’s hand in his, his bright eyes sparkling as the acorns artfully suspended in his braids danced over his shoulders.  Erestor did not share the mirth of his dance partner, but knew he was trapped and the only option was seeing through this exercise in foolishness, bobbing about like a duckling in a pond.  He only hoped he might secure enough miruvor before the night was out to erase this incident from his memory forever.

When at last the dance concluded, the participants again applauded the musicians before bowing to their dancing partners in thanks. 

“Master Erestor, I am most -”

“Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor interrupted, “do you often find yourself pining for your days spent in the Halls of Awaiting?”

Glorfindel was brought up short by the sudden non-sequitur.  “No, not particularly.  I find Imladris to be -”

“Well, if you should ever catch me up in a dance like that again, I shall personally arrange for your _immediate_ return from whence you came.  My Lord,” he added, biting out his words swiftly but quietly.  It would never do to draw attention to oneself in such company, of course.  Before any reply could be registered, Erestor turned and left the Hall of Fire as swiftly as decorum would permit.

Glorfindel just stood for a moment, staring after the sable blur that he could swear was left in Erestor’s wake.  Only the Chief Counsellor could possibly make a telling off sound so cordial.  A moment later, Dhroslin, a captain of Mithlond, appeared beside Glorfindel to request the next dance and Glorfindel returned to the set of dancers for a waltz.

After the dance, Lindir announced that Lord Elrond invited all to make their way to the dining hall and find their marked places for the feast.

“All seems to be going rather well,” Elrond remarked to Glorfindel, meeting him just outside the Hall of Fire, where they stood aside to let the many guests from the Elven realms process out of the Hall.

“Yes.  Very fine celebrations, very cheering.  There is one thing that puzzles me, though.  Perhaps you can edify me, mellon.”

“I would share whatever knowledge I may - _provided_ I may, of course,” Elrond said.

“It is Master Erestor.  Forgive me, Elrond, but I am at a loss.  What is it about this most joyous time of year that could possible make any Elf so ill-tempered?”

“Ah, yes, I see.  Well, I believe it is less the time of year and more the ‘joyous’ that vexes our Councillor.  For Erestor, I fear that many of our ways are rather… informal, and at this time of year it seems to perturb him the most.  Were he not my Chief Councillor, I should offer him leave of the day, so to close the year as he sees fitting in his own way.  Even as he is, I would happily do so, but you know Erestor – he would be grievously offended if I suggested that he could simply not attend if such was his preference.  It would be _unseemly_ for the Chief Councillor to be absent from any notable doings.  And so, I believe we have come to a tenuous peace on the matter – Erestor is accorded the status of his office, given his due place in attendance, and we simply permit him his moods and grumblings and promise not to oblige him to any outward, unbecoming signs of what we might deem _mirth_.”

Glorfindel was silent for a moment.  “Tenuous peace, you say this is?” he asked carefully. 

Elrond laughed.  “Most tenuous, indeed!”

Glorfindel just laughed along with Elrond, but he had a fair idea that he had just sundered that peace as surely as the island of Numenor was sundered.  There was certainly nothing he could do to change the matter at the moment, though, and so he, too, made his way to the dining hall.

* * *

Meanwhile, on a balcony overlooking the river valley, Erestor stood watching as the last rays of Anor slipped down into the hills, beginning the longest night of the year.  Where boughs of glossy green _ereg_ where twined along the rail as seasonal décor, Erestor carefully, reverently traced the spiky leaves.

“I have not forgotten, my love,” he whispered to no one present, pressing his fingers to the ring, wrought of mithril and set with three small rubies in the form of a holly sprig, suspended on a chain and worn always under his robes.

“Oh, here you are!” called a twin Elf, appearing on the balcony.

“Come, Master Erestor, we will be eating any moment now,” said the other, sweeping along beside Erestor and catching him under the arm.

Erestor calmly removed Twin 2’s hand from his elbow.  “I’ll be along, boys, very soon,” he assured them.  The twins were young and eager for everything still.  He hoped they would be granted a world of peace to grow in, that their buoyant spirits might remain light and easy.

Twin 2 simply shrugged and headed back inside to the dining hall.  The other stopped a moment and placed a hand on Erestor’s shoulder.  “Is all well?” he asked quietly. 

Erestor patted Twin 1’s hand.  “Nothing for you to be troubled over.  Just one more of my peculiarities, I don’t care very much for this time of year, I’m afraid.  But you go on ahead.  If your brother gets the food before you, you shall starve,” Erestor said with a small smile.

“How do you know he’s not the one who would starve if I got to the food before him?”

“Because Elrohir eats like a war-horse, Elladan.  Yes, I can tell you apart.  But only on a Mid-winter night when the moon is full.”

“Too clever for us, Master Erestor,” Elladan grinned.  “Don’t tarry out here, they’re serving the Dorwinion King Thranduil brought.”

Erestor rolled his eyes.  “Valar.  There will be drunken wood-elves asleep in every corner of the house ere dawn!”

Elladan laughed.  “Don’t count out the Peredhil, either.  Not whiles naneth and Arwen are away!” he called over his shoulder as he went to join Elrohir. 

For a moment longer, Erestor stood in the quiet, alone, looking out over the lands of the valley.  At least the evening would go on much more quietly from then.  Once everyone had overfed themselves, they would return to the Hall of Fire to continue drinking throughout the long night, but entertainments would turn from boisterous dancing to poetry and softer music.  That part of the evening suited Erestor much better, though he was still determined to quit the company as soon as propriety was satisfied. 

Erestor decided to do his best to ignore the tall, gleaming, acorn-bedecked Elf he was stuck sat beside, especially after that dance.  It wasn’t entirely Glorfindel’s fault that Erestor hated that particular song fiercely, but the presumption was rather galling.  To think, _this_ Elf had been granted such favour by the Valar….

Throughout the meal, every time Erestor’s glass was less than half-full, he found the former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower with a decanter in hand, topping it up for him.  After the fourth time, Erestor finally turned to Glorfindel.  “You do not attempt to intoxicate me, do you, my Lord?”

“No, indeed,” Glorfindel said apologetically.  “I just thought you might… well, this vintage is very highly sought, after all….”

“I am fully capable of pouring my own, thank you,” Erestor muttered. 

Glorfindel glanced toward Elrond at his other side as if to say, “I thought I was being friendly!”

Elrond just shook his head very slightly and continued enjoying his supper.  He only wished his gift of foresight had warned him that the two senior-most officials of his House were going to clash so spectacularly. 

Once the feast was deemed sufficient, as evidenced by most of the Elves leaning back in their chairs with eyes slightly glazed, Elrond invited all gathered to return to the Hall of Fire.  There Erestor settled back into the place he’d occupied beside the musicians’ dais during the dancing.  Before long, light cakes and fruits, vivifying cordials and warm, spiced wine would be brought in and replenished throughout the night.  The great fire would blaze on with its annual addition of spiced pinecones adding to the cheering atmosphere. Songs and poems to Elbereth and Earendil would feature prominently and all the songs of stars and Anor and Ithil that were best loved.

Erestor sat listening dispassionately until shortly before midnight, when he rose quietly and unobtrusively and left the Hall.  Few would notice by then if he didn’t return.  Fetching a dark cloak that matched his robes, he walked out of the house and down to a garden that was open to the skies where he could sit and look at the stars for himself, rather than just hearing their praises.  And more importantly, he could sit in the moonlight, alone. 

After a long, thoughtful while, Erestor eventually raised his hand to undo the topmost clasps of his robe.  With careful, reverent fingers under his collar, he withdrew the chain and ring and removed it from around his neck.  The mithril gleamed in the bright moonlight and the rubies glowed and danced like the fire in the Hall.  But when he turned the ring over in his hand and held it up to the light of Ithil, a glimmer showed on the inside of the band, where only the light of a full moon on the longest night of the year would reveal a word:

_Uiveleth._ Love eternal.

Just a word, so small, fashioned in such comely script, wrought by the hand of a craftsman of unparalleled skill, perfecting the art of moon-letters by inscribing silver itself with a silver pen. 

Not even Beleg’s Anglachel could cut deeper than that word by that hand.

Erestor put the chain back about his neck before bowing his head and at last giving over to the tears of a grief he doubted would ever diminish.

* * *

Wherever could their spiky-tempered Councillor gone off to so early in the night, Glorfindel wondered, seeing the hallowed place beside Lindir’s lutes and lyres abandoned.  It was only just gone midnight and this was the celebration of the year – hundred-year most likely, for Elrond had only been persuaded by the twins to put on such an extensive fete because Celebrian and Arwen were in Lothlorien for the season. 

Fetching Erestor’s glass and going to fill it along with his own with miruvor, Glorfindel had already forgotten the telling off he’d had at supper and went to take a glass of cordial to Erestor, wherever he might be found.  Few were the ruminating moods that the fortified wine could not ease, in Glorfindel’s opinion. 

Glorfindel searched first the library, always a likely place to encounter Erestor, then his study and Elrond’s, for it wouldn’t have surprised him to find Erestor setting himself to work even on such a night.  He looked into Erestor’s personal chambers but no one was in.  He search the balconies and even the guest quarters, but found no brooding Noldo.

He was just about to give up and return to the Hall when he passed a window that overlooked a garden without walls or dome.  There on a bench sat a huddled figure, all in dark clothes. There was only one Elf for leagues around dressed so dourly on a high holiday.  Glorfindel shook his head.  Erestor did look rather unwell, though, and maybe didn’t need more cordial so much as tonic.

“I suppose you might have been correct about refusing more wine at supper,” Glorfindel said approaching.  “Though I rather thought you might hold your liquor at least a bit better than the twins.”

Erestor turned away quickly.  “Leave me be,” he said, unable to keep his voice from cracking.  Could he not even have this night to bathe the wound of his heart in peace from the great returned Balrog-slayer of Gondolin, whose own glow rivaled the moon in the deep of night?

Glorfindel sighed.  “Can I not fetch you a tonic, since it is likely my fault that you are feeling the effect of that wine?”

“I am feeling no such effect,” Erestor bit out impatiently.  “What grieves me, you would not understand.  So just be gone.”

“What grieves you…,” Glorfindel repeated quietly, stepping closer.   It hadn’t occurred to him that Erestor’s mood was the result of some heartsickness.

“Have you not heard me?” Erestor snapped, standing to face Glorfindel.  “I said that I wish to be left alone!”

Glorfindel’s eyes did not meet Erestor’s but were drawn immediately to the shining ring worn against Erestor’s conservative garments.  “I have heard of the Three Rings,” Glorfindel said contemplatively.  “That is none of them, but looks to be of equal make.”

Erestor hurriedly stuffed the ring under his tunic.  “Well, it is no concern of yours.  Mine is no ring of Power, only a promise that shall now never see fulfillment.”

“You had a love?” Glorfindel asked, unable to stop the disbelieving note in his voice.

“I was not always cold and grinding as the Helcaraxë, as I know is said of me behind my back,” Erestor said bitterly.

“Forgive me, I thought it was your natural Noldorian temperament,” Glorfindel shot back before shaking his head.  “I am sorry, I did not mean to say that.  I have not been here long, but already I am so used to matching your barbs.  Erestor, I have much to ask your pardon for this night.  I thought only to include you in the joyous celebrations of _anor’s_ return, for you seemed so distant.  I did not know I was pushing you further away, or rather that you wanted only to be away.  Elrond said only that these holidays were too informal for your liking and I thought that if you but relaxed you might better enjoy….”

Erestor shook his head.  “Elrond does not, to my knowledge, know the true depth of my grief.  Only Ereinion knew that and only because he was there when I rightly should have died from it.”

Glorfindel sat on the bench Erestor had occupied and looked up at him sympathetically.  “Your ring… it’s wrought in the form of _ereg_.  And those are moon-letters glowing, unless I am deceived.  Your love was Telperinquar.”

Erestor shut his eyes tightly.  “He hated that name as he hated his father.  When he disavowed his line, he took only his name in Sindarin, which he called the language of his heart and he spoke Quenya again to none unless they spoke no other tongue.”

“Celebrimbor, then,” Glorfindel nodded.  “And you and he were to wed.”

Erestor struggled to fight back a sob, but was so tired of hiding his hurt for so many long, long years.  Finally he sank down to sit on the garden bench.  “He engraved the ring the very night he gave it to me with his promise that we should marry one year from the night.  Only, celebrations of all manners ceased when Sauron was revealed to us with his ring.  It was before we had even celebrated the longest day, my Celeb’s favourite holiday… the triumph of the Holly King….  ” Erestor said quietly.  “The truth is that our union was long since realized and lacked only for being scribed into the books.  History will not recall….  There are none else who know this here.  I don’t know why I’m telling you now.”

“None other shall hear of it from me,” Glorfindel promised, passing Erestor the miruvor he’d meant to bring him in the first place.  “I did not know Celebrimbor, but I have heard much about him since my return.  Some tales say one thing, some another, but all seem to agree that he was a noble and worthy lord who loved his land deeply and held honor very highly.”

“He was far nobler than any tales tell.  Those who bear tales did not keep his counsel or know his heart as I did.”  Erestor took a long, stuttering breath.  “His people came first, and he acted as no king, but only with their agreement.  He thought he could prove himself better than his father and uncles, that he could redress their terrible wrongs.  It proved a fatal ambition, for he never truly trusted the so-called ‘giver of gifts’ and hoped only to keep him at arm’s length until he could ascertain Annatar’s nature and purpose.  It was why he worked alone to make the Three, and mine.”

“You survived the fall of Eregion.  Why do I think that was not chance?”

“Of course it wasn’t.  I would have stayed and fought beside him, or made him flee with me, but he would not have either.  As soon as he knew Sauron was preparing a strike against Eregion, he sent me away.  He convinced me to take the Three and to see them hidden safely in Lindon with Ereinion.  He knew Sauron would come for him and Celeb would not follow until the threat was no more.  Only, Sauron put his broken body upon a pike and wielded him as a _banner_ of war.”

“Merciful Elbereth,” Glorfindel breathed, gathering Erestor into his arms and holding him as he wept. 

* * *

Neither Elf returned to the festivities that night and throughout the years of the Third Age Erestor and Glorfindel forged a fast friendship and spent many long nights talking of elder days and ages and all they had seen and done and loved.  And no year went by again with Erestor in the Hall of Fire on that particular night – Glorfindel told Elrond that he had persuaded Erestor to abdicate his office one day a year in a sort of “misrule” ceremony - so that he could spend the day in memory and honour of his defeated Holly King, whom he still loved above all.


End file.
